


Caught Me On the Loose

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Low tide.  Perfect time for some slow fucking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Me On the Loose

"For Chrissakes, Sam…it's _raining_ ; where the fuck did all the water go?"

"It's low tide," Sam explains again patiently and combs his fingers through the soaked mess of his hair, pushing it back from his face. It doesn’t do him any good; it flops right back down again, dripping warm and sluggish down his face. Sometimes he thinks Dean might be right about his hair.

But, glancing sidelong at the hungry, piercing look on Dean's face as he goes through the motions, he thinks he's not going to be cutting his hair any time soon. They both like the feel of Dean's hand fisted in the strands, tugging just to the point of pain.

"Point is," he adds, "We aren't going anywhere. 'Least for a while."

Dean sighs and sags against the side of the little fishing shack, scratching at another mosquito bite. He looks welted in them, but ironically enough—and to Dean's irritation—Sam's been pretty much left alone. "This is lame."

Sam sidles sideways until their shoulders are bumping. "Doesn't have to be."

It's Dean's turn to look sideways at him and Sam watches comprehension dawn across Dean's face at about the same time he gives vent to that cocky smirk that goes straight to Sam's groin. "Perfect weather for slow fucking," he says consideringly.

That's all the cue Sam needs, stripping his soaked shirt up over his head. Dean's about halfway through shedding his own tee when Sam slams into him. Dean's arms are still tangled in the cloth. Sam pins them to the wall and bends his head to chew and suck at the soft, hot skin of Dean's neck, rasping against the ever present blondish stubble. Dean's legs spread wide like they were on hinges and Sam gets a thigh between them, Dean's erection riding against his hip and his returning the favor.

"Sammy…" Dean pants, eyes opening and closing like he's struggling against weights on the lids. "Fuck, Sam…"

"No, I don't think so," Sam purrs against Dean's skin, wrapping his off hand in Dean's shirt so he can keep his grip while his other hand goes to work on Dean's belt and zipper, tugging his jeans down until Dean's cock is freed, hard and bobbing against his taut stomach. "I think it's 'fuck Dean' today."

Dean groans again when Sam's hand wraps around him, stroking fast and hard. It's too hot for a lot of foreplay and Sam's been ready to go pretty much all day, watching Dean strut around with his wet clothes clinging to every muscle. "Yeah," Dean says, hoarsely, already arching into every movement of Sam's fingers. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

He's so easy.

II.

It's not like Dean's not down for whatever pretty much any time. It's like…his _thing_. He just doesn't really expect this kind of rapid fire urgency from _Sam_ , who can spend ten minutes contemplating the relative merits of a Single with Cheese versus a Homestyle Chicken Sandwich. And then order an Oriental Chicken Salad.

But now… It's like…two minutes before Sam's got him mostly naked—'mostly' because he's still using Dean's T-shirt like handcuffs, tugging Dean forward, into the shack itself and coaxing Dean down to the floor.

The roof's leaking like a sieve and Dean doesn't know why Sam bothered, but as long as it equals blinding orgasms in the very near future for both of them, Dean's not going to quibble. "I've got lube in my back pocket," he offers as Sam drapes over him, hotter than even the Louisiana swamp heat, and bites the back of his neck hard, so that Dean'll be wearing his mark for a week. Kinky fucker. Sam's always leaving bruises on his neck and chest and Dean bitches and moans about it a lot, but he sort of likes it too. Because that's Sam's thing.

"Dean, you're such a fucking slut," Sam chuckles, but he lets go of Dean's wrists long enough to go rummaging through his discarded jeans.

"And you love that about me!" Dean calls over his shoulder, careful to keep his arms flat just as Sam left them. Sam likes that too.

"Mmm. Yes. Yes, I do."

First thing Dean knows next is the sudden wet swipe of Sam's tongue over the back of his thigh, punctuated with the sharp puncture of teeth right where his thigh meets his ass. Dean yelps and starts to jerk away, but Sam just _leans_ on him with one of his ginormous paws and Dean goes nowhere, his cock grinding into the floor somewhere between pleasure and pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean thumps his fists into the floor, punctuating each curse. "Dammit, Sam…"

"Shh…" Sam's hand swirls over Dean's ass cheek, kneading and pressing and then his fingers slide between, rubbing slick and hard against Dean's hole. "Slow fucking, that's what you said, right, Dean?"

"Oh God," Dean moans as Sam strokes and probes—only on the outside, always on the outside—while Dean can feel his body strain and shake, begging for that finger to go a little further, a little deeper, rub a little longer.

Sam kisses his shoulder lightly. "Don't worry, Dean. I don't have the patience to tease. I wanna be in you too much." And then he's _there_ , spreading Dean apart with both hands and the thick soft-hard head of his cock opening Dean up wide.

III.

It's hard for Sam to take it slow, to not just snap his hips and spear right into Dean deep and hard. Dean wouldn't mind, he knows; Dean often likes it a little rougher and harder than Sam's totally comfortable with. But that's not the point. The point is he wants Dean to lose it. He wants Dean to beg, to go wild the way he's been driving Sam wild all day.

It's not like Dean hasn't noticed. The faint smirk on his face every time he catches Sam looking, how often he'd bent over, shoving his ass up in Sam's direction, flexing his shoulders at every opportunity. Dean's been fucking _asking_ for it all day, the vain, smug bastard. And now Sam's really going to make him _ask_.

So he doesn't plunge in. He doesn't rush, even though his thighs are shaking like it's an earthquake. He slip-slides in, making Dean feel every inch of him as he goes. "Sam," Dean gasps again. _"Sam."_

"You said slow, Dean," Sam answers cheerfully, his voice only breaking a bit on Dean's name. "I can do…mmm…slow." His fingers tighten around Dean's hips and ass.

Dean tries to move, tries to wriggle back, but Sam just pushes him down again. "Sam—" It borders on a whine now, Dean's hips moving in tiny butterfly strokes to try and get some leverage. "God, Sam… At least… At least let me see you. Let me look at you."

And Sam likes that idea. A lot. A fucked Dean is a gorgeous Dean indeed. "Yeah," he says, and it's another long slow slide out while Dean groans and writhes. "Yeah, c'mon. Turn over." He slips out of Dean and flips him, while Dean pulls his legs up and apart. It's not even a minute before Sam's easing back in. Oh. _Oh_. Tighter this way. Hotter. "Oh," Sam says, hooking his hands behind Dean's knees and opening him wider, pushing him back onto his shoulders. "Oh, Dean."

"Please," Dean says, whispering as his back arches and his body clamps down on Sam's. He's wriggled one hand free; it's fisted around his cock, dragging hard and fast over his shaft. "God, Sam, fuck what I said, just…now. Okay? Now, please. I can't…I can't…"

Sam puts his mouth over Dean's taking all those soft begging moans into him while he lets himself drive faster, harder into hot, tight flesh. All the people that Dean's fucked, and this is his. Always and only his. Of course, so much of Dean was always only his…he just didn't _get_ that until almost too late.

 _But not entirely too late_ , he thinks with satisfaction as Dean convulses and screams into Sam's mouth, biting down on Sam's lip until they both can taste blood, sharing it between them. _We're here now._

The rain drips between his shoulders, heavy now, steady, like a counterpoint to every thrust. Dean reaches up and tangles his fingers in Sam's hair, pulling and tugging, growling over and over, "Now, Sam, now…"

Head tilted against Dean's grip, Sam gasps, sharp and tearing. Sometimes, that's all it takes; not the flexing clasp of Dean's body, not the thrust and glide of his cock…just the sound of Dean's voice, low and rasping and _desperate_ and he's tightening and spurting and dying and he can't even _talk_ , mouth open and eyes closed and it's good, so good as Dean milks him down.

After, Dean's fingers gentle in his hair, making him shiver. They lie flat on their backs next to each other, panting and feeling the rain pelt onto overheated skin.

"How long before the tide comes back?" Dean asks, breathless.

Sam considers. "'Nother hour, at least."

"Oh, hell…that's _plenty_ of time," Dean says and rolls over onto Sam again.


End file.
